Annie and Amen
by isadora.allender
Summary: God and the Devil discuss the future of a young woman named Annie. Rated T for language. It's funny and you should read it.
1. The Devil

**©2012 Isadora Allender - whatever. Just enjoy this. Stay for the awesome ride. I'm open to reader suggestion.**

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Our story starts high above the normal plain of existence, with a living, breathing atheist, and an argument between God and Satan:

"Her name is Annie," God shouted at him from across the dining room table. His voice was louder than its usual emphasis on low frequency, and the Devil was almost certain he could see saliva fly past his holy lips and golden beard.

But the Devil, today in his human form, grinned back. He put down his turkey leg and wiped his greasy fingers onto his white t-shirt.

"Well," said the Devil, "I don't think that needs to be discussed over dinner. I was only saying that neither of us wins."

"I don't believe in ties."

"That's a pretty big lack of faith, coming from God, you know."

They sat in the dining room of what looked like a very old castle. The dark bricks that lined the walls looked medieval, and the torches hung on the walls were lit with what could only be the Devil's own hellfire. The table was rough and worn. Any remnant of paint that had once graced the wood was worn down, blending into the cracks and turning into a dark stain. The table itself, though, was covered in food, mostly meats and fruits. Typically, God would have assumed that they were indeed at the Devil's residence, but the Devil tended to change things up a bit on special occasions. Once in awhile, he would take God to his favorite places and times in order to discuss business matters. The Devil's young and handsome face gleamed across the table. The dawn of the morning, God thought. You just had to make Lucifer, like there was some other god to show him off to.

"What's this dinner all about?" God looked around at the scenery, unimpressed.

"You don't like it? Damn, I really worked hard on these details. Look at this." He pointed at the walls. "12th century brick – do you know how hard it is to get a legitimate middle age brick? And hauling it down here, what a pain..." He sighed to himself and gazed at his abode. "Your obesity epidemic is really taking its toll on this kind of quality construction."

"That kind of quality was mostly slave based," replied God.

"Apparently you haven't checked up on the wages of your average Chinaman."

Had he not stopped himself, God's eyes would have rolled for millennia. Not since the 80s had God rolled his eyes like that.

"We are having dinner," the Devil continued, "to discuss your Annie."

God's hand had moved over the grapes, but he faltered and went for the pineapple slices. He popped three slices in his mouth. "I don't know what you want me to say," he chewed, "I don't want to fight about it. I'm not doing another Job; it just makes for a bunch of self-pitying-"

"She's converting back," the Devil cut in.

A piece of pineapple fell out of God's mouth. Reconversion was a tricky subject. It was much like rehab - reconversion only stuck five percent of the time. 95 percent of the time, people talked to God in their time of need, attended a few Wednesday night services, and after a couple weeks, they relapsed to their agnostic, atheistic ways of wandering the earth below. Reconversion was against all odds. It was exciting for God. It was a win on his scoreboard. God's mind began to race.

"Remember that band No Doubt? I really liked them." The Devil picked up a record album with a blonde woman on the front. "I'm doing this thing where I'm trying to get my friends to try new music-"

"No, the conversion! What about a reconversion?" God's voice began to boom again. The torches on the side of the castle walls went black. The long wooden dining table began to shake as meat and jello splashed onto the floor.

The devil's brown eyes got wide. "Okay, listen," he wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans. He then snapped his fingers. Nothing happened.

"Damn, that Turkey," said the Devil. He grabbed a napkin, wiped his fingers, and snapped once again.

The castle disappeared, and the ethereal pair appeared in a suburban backyard. It was a fenced yard, complete with a back porch and a smoking grill. A beagle ran up to God's white robes and began to lick his fingers.

"Get out of here," scolded the Lord.

From inside the house, there came shouting.

"Jonathan," it echoed, "Get the fucking grill!" It sounded like an angry young woman.

"So," he said politely, "This is Annie..."

As soon as the Devil said it, a young woman did come out of the back door, with curly brown hair and a spatula in her hands. Her baggy jeans slipped lower as she stomped toward the grill. She wasn't skinny or fat. She was just... short, God thought.

"It's like they get shorter every century," God chuckled to himself. The Devil gave him a stern look. He summoned a faded scroll and began to read.

"Annie, 22. Psychology degree, currently unemployed. Mother, father, two younger brothers. Some history of emotional disturbances.. A self-declared loner. Atheist."

"What do you want with her? I like her - even if she is an atheist - she's hip!" God's stumpy little creation brought him some joy.

"Oh my god, what decade are we in? Hip?" asked the Devil.

God scratched his golden beard. "Isn't that what the kids are saying nowadays?"

The little beagle ran up to Annie, who bent down and scratched behind the dog's ears. As she bent over, the Devil twisted his head and took a long look at her behind in her loose pants. He got a slap on the back of the head from God, which translated to a large clap of thunder above Annie's brick house.

"Shit," she said to herself. Annie ran in the house, and the beagle followed. Rain began to pour down, causing steam to float off the black grill. God and the Devil walked onto the porch. The rain easily bypassed God's facial hair and white robes, putting him into an airy halo. As the rain hit the Devil's shoulders, steam arose from a wet, white t-shirt.

"Alright," God said, "she's reconverting. That's great. I don't know why you're telling me. I mean, it's exciting - lost sheep and all, but what-"

The Devil walked up to God and put his finger on his lips. "Shhh, don't think too much. I don't want to tire you out, pops."

God pushed the hand away from his mouth.

"Her mom's gonna die tonight," said the Devil, grinning.

God sighed. Tragedy was the price of a soul. Had God looked through the cosmic goop of reality, he would have seen this coming. He was omniscient, of course, but only when he took the time to peak through the curtain.

The devil kept talking. "But, when she comes back, when she 'converts' or whatever-"

"I prefer 'reconverts,'" God cut in proudly.

"Yeah, whatever, 'reconverts.' When she does, I'm gonna leave her my calling card."

God laughed, "You think an ex-Christian turned atheist turned reconvert is going to 'turn' to Satanism? You're more likely to turn a gay man straight, and I've seen people try that, and it's so bad, it's funny."

The Devil vanished and reappeared on the roof of Annie's brick house. "Sit with me!" He called out to God from the black shingles. God immediately appeared beside him. They looked across the neighborhood of identical brick and vinyl-sided houses.

"Remember Orpheus?" the Devil asked slowly.

"That dumbass that tried to pull his wife out of limbo?"

The Devil's eyes grew red. "Okay, first - I was gonna let him pull her out, he screwed up. Second, do not call my home Limbo, okay? You saw those 12th century bricks - I make it nice down there."

"What would you rather me call it?" God asked.

"I don't know - the basement?" the Devil suggested.

"So Orpheus tried to pull his wife out of the basement - and Annie is, what, gonna pull her dead mom out of hell?" God heard the words coming out of his mouth, and his eyes widened. "Oh my titans. Holy shit."

"Hey," the Devil stopped him, "I'm just leaving hints. Everything else is up to her - I just want to see how it plays out."

"Huh," God thought to himself. "I'm guessing you want my approval on this one."

"That would be preferable," said the Devil.

"Well," said God, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Their handshake brought a bolt of lightening from the sky.

"It's weird how these planes of reality work," said the Devil.


	2. Annie

_Okay, first, I wanna say thank you to my followers and people who read this. This is un-beta'd/un-proofed/un-workshopped (semantics-shmemantics), but if it's crappy let me know (PM or review) and I'll fix it. I accept all criticism, whether it is laced with curses or a gentle pat on the shoulder._

_And maybe more importantly, I'm writing fanfiction about the Bible, like Dante or Bunyan or VeggieTales. I guess you could consider this 'AU' for the Bible as I will not be following a particular doctrine. I'm keeping it simple. This story exists in a Bible universe, but it is __**NOT**__ going to the metaphysical rules that are spelled out in certain parts of scripture AT ALL. Think of it like the movie Dogma. If you are offended by that sort of thing, then don't read it because it will get weird. _

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Sometimes I can't feel anything. I don't know why. I look in the mirror and I'm unrecognizable and confused, but that's just life, isn't it? My brain hasn't caught up with the physicality of myself. There's a knock on my door. There's always someone knocking – there's another visitor and another place to go. It was my mom.

"Annie, what are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Open the door. I need to ask you something."

I hated that. I need to ask you something. That's six words. In a romance language, the phrase would be four words. In Thai, three words, or maybe one big one. I don't know. When my mom needed to ask me something, it was serious. The woman with all the answers comes to me. It's an interrogation. I could feel it. I closed my laptop, because the pictures of puppies couldn't close themselves. I reached over to the door and unlocked it. The look on her little face. I began to panic. What is it? What could it possibly be?

"Do you have any laundry that you want me to do?"

Relief.

"No, I'll do it later," I replied.

I never do it later.

"You need to stop sitting in bed on your laptop. You need to get out."

The panic started to come back.

"And do what?"

She rolled her eyes at me. "Uhhh, you could clean the living room for me. You could walk the dog. You could take the GRE again."

I could feel a heart palpitation coming on.

"I don't have any friends."

The girls from college had their own lives now. The only friends I had left were the ones that knew my brother during High School – the ones that had reached over that two year gap in our ages and actually became acquainted with me. Mitchell was the only one that I could still have a conversation with. The other ones had joined the Navy or used racial slurs.

I got the energy to walk out of my room and go to the bathroom. Jonathan, in his spasmodic fashion, opened his door quickly. A puff of odor escaped from the room, the stench of old weed covered up by cigarettes and dirty shoes. His gangly, dark body towered over mine, and his beard looked like someone had taped pubic hairs to his face. He had hazel eyes that would darken with his mood swings. The weed had balanced him out, and his good grades were about as miraculous as his popularity. He had a good job at a grocery store and some scholarship money. There weren't a lot of things that made sense about him.

"What did mom want?"

"I don't know," I said, "Nothing – she's doing laundry. Why?"

His face was scrunched somewhere between a grin and relief.

"Shit, what did you do?" I asked, punching his chest.

He began scratching his neck. "I might have put a small dent in my bumper last night."

In these kinds of situations, as much as we hate each other, we would work together. My dad was going to kill him.

"Were you drunk?"

Jonathan looked down the hallway to check for spies. "Mitchell hit me in a parking lot."

"I'm gonna fucking kill him. Which parking lot?"

"Waffle house."

"Jesus, Jon. Dad just-"

He cut me off with a quiet "shut up."

I began to whisper between my teeth, "Dad just got that car repainted for you."

It was a '77 Ford truck. My dad and Jonathan had made that truck their project for the past 6 months. When they got it running, my dad had it repainted as sort of a birthday gift. It was blue.

"Can you take it to the body shop behind the Mexican restaurant for me?"

I huffed. "Why me?"

"Cause I have to go to work, so I figured you can drop me off at work and then swing over there."

I was willing to sacrifice some of my precious free time for him.

"Okay," I said, "but you owe me. You're cleaning the bathroom for the next 2 months."

"Okay," he said.

"With Ajax and shit," I added.

"Alright," he yelled, throwing on his uniform and nametag, "Let's go."


End file.
